


Cynical Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angstfear, Bad Ending, Confusion, Crying, DTR, Gunshots, Hate Sex, M/M, References to War, Wounds, aflred is terribly confused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 10:12:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13785306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ivan suffers from a gunshot wound in his side that punctured his left lung. Lucky Alfred is there to be angry about it.





	Cynical Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> First story ever! All comments are greatly welcomed!

The hospital doors fell away easily. This wasn’t about "flare" anymore, much less what he felt he deserved. He didn’t have a thousand soldiers behind him, there weren't any hitmen on his side, he didn’t have any weapons. He was alone. Blind with fury and shock, he left his elaborate scheme behind.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

This hospital was part of a military base. Yet, of course, it was easy to snake his way through the ‘tight” security. Each layer of protection came apart at his fingertips. He almost felt disgusted, and if he was someone else he would be mortified. He would have recognized his hands as dirty, and his ambitions as faulty. And now he was able to make the almost immortal the Russian’s flesh dissipate. It felt like he was standing in one place.

Then again...maybe it was.

Alfred was barely aware of himself as he sprinted. Every sense was firing too hard and every muscle was tense. The white medical hallway traveled around him until he was bursting through the Russian room. Then all motion stopped.

Someone else might think...it doesn’t matter what they would think. On any other day, this would be funny to him. He would be trying to find a way to catch his breath! He wouldn't be keening at the sight of his worst enemy bleeding out on a gurney. He wouldn’t want to throw up at the dried blood on his cheeks. Alfred stuck out his open hand then hesitated. He didn’t want to touch it.

Wasn’t this what I wanted?

He felt vulnerable. This was a cast of new feelings and a new internal conflict. He had accomplished his goal, wasn’t this where he was supposed to feel good? He looked at a clipboard left on the ground. The words were written in Russian, but from the quality of penmanship, he could infer he had done it. Succeeded.

Ivan was dying.

Alfred threw the clipboard on the floor in horror and dropped to his knees in front of the wavering body.

He gently pulled the white sheet back from Ivan’s chest and drew his fingers gently over the body outlining all the bloody muscles. Hard from years in combat situations, and rough scars from many different wounds. Alfred hopped he had made a few. He ran his fingers in a slow procession until his fingertip was resting on his neck.

“I bet your nerves are shot.” He said quietly. “You’re jugular vein is my favorite point of fascination. Through all my brief visions of a scene like this, and the one chance I You remember that night?”

That night was referring to an ambush from years ago. It had been the peak aggression in their relationship:

-o0o-

It was 2 in the morning. Black as death everywhere else in the world, but Ivan’s camp was overwhelmed with soldiers burning to ashes. His camp was on fire. The man himself was laying on the ground with his hand gripped tightly around Alfred’s neck. Alfred maneuvered his dagger and slit his throat. Ivan hissed and clenched on Alfred’s throat blocking his airway. Ivan’s grip tightened. Alfred pushed his palms hard on the base of Ivan’s neck (who was now mad with pain and quickly losing focus).

“Live bitch. I want you to see it burn,” His voice was painfully strained. Blood squirted out from a space in his fingers. Alfred gagged as some of it hit his mouth, but he could barely breathe already. Alfred turned to face Ivan’s burning camp. His insanity was matched with panic as Ivan’s hand suddenly became limp. His voice raised a pitch. “Stay awake.”

-o0o-

Alfred stroked around Ivan’s collarbone as the memory ravaged his mind. He was trying to focus back into the present, but it all came back in a cocktail of “cat and mouse”. He was trying to work around the fact that Ivan was dying.

“So this is it?” Alfred pushed his blond hair back. “After that night I vowed to see your face that way again. The pain binds to these tired scars in such an erotic fashion,” Alfred’s voice was cracking. “You’re so smart, yet you let nearly all your soldiers fall into mine. I gave you hell. But even after I won you leave me asking...how could you?”

Alfred took Ivan’s hand and was careful of the IV. He scowled as Ivan was very cold. He worked his fingers into his and rested his head on his muscled stomach. He could almost feel Ivan’s body working to fix what was far too broken. Like pulses from somewhere, he hadn’t explored yet. Like the shock of electrons. You aren’t broken to me. This would be tough harder than he originally thought. To give up the only thing that could excite him so much. He had lived through many a sleepless night tossing and turning to the sound of gunshots. To the screams of his men. The only thing to save him from guilt was Ivan, in his positive negativity, and The idea of falling apart under him:

-o0o-

Their two bodies were nearly sick with arousal as they left despicable marks on each other. Like an itch, they had to scratch until the skin was raw. Corrupting each other's blood until they could bleed black. It was another passionate brawl that raged on through rough touches and murderous eyes. They allowed each other to be irrational and pure in their tandem shatterings, each man coming apart at the seams. They were only charged with lust.

Ivan had forced his hands on Alfred’s hips and assessed the figure like a battleground. Smooth, scarred flesh and blood that was as muscular as he was refined. He buried himself inside the American and waited until his wails of pain became the pleasure. Then he started a fast (painful) pace. Every moment sent Ivan swearing or moaning while Alfred struggled and groaned. Ivan took a fist full of Alfred’s blond locks and changed his angle to push all of Alfred’s buttons. Alfred was gripping the sheets and seeing stars. The feeling would last for days. Alfred wanted him to make it hurt.

“Is that all you’ve got!?” Alfred hissed. Ivan tweaked one of his nipples making him shudder.

“You whore, you won’t be able to stand after this.” Ivan barked. He sped up and hit something in Alfred that made his back arch in pleasure. He cried out once he came but Ivan kept going. Ivan pressed his lips to the other’s neck for Alfred to submit. Alfred yelped when Ivan dug his teeth in but didn’t protest. He let him have control as he mercilessly pounded him. And as hot and quick as it had started, it was over.

Ivan laid the American on the bed and let him quiver and shake the night off. Alfred was left covered in Ivan’s release, aching, and sore beyond belief.

But it’s always unnerving to wake up in an empty bed after such a night.

-o0o-

Alfred let his emotions have him then too, letting himself feel used and hurt. Letting himself want it again so bad. Soon he would wake up and realize that they were in a war. He held a knife to Ivan’s throat all through the night and tried to wash away every bruise the next morning. He would try to not think about trivial things like how he’d shared a bed with his next assassination.

Alfred shot away from Ivan’s bed and nearly ran out the door. That will never happen. He tried to slow his heart down as he hugged himself. “Want” should never overpower “needs”. Never. That won't happen ever again.

He looked at Ivan's wound once he let himself get closer again. His calculated shot was flooded with blood again. A nurse would have to reset the bandages.

“Do you feel it too?’ he asked the near corpse. Alfred didn't want to feel this. It was too much. His hands were fidgeting. And his voice was losing its cool masculine tone. “To realize your whole county is counting on you to end a life, but you just can’t do it? To feel the only connection you have is the thing you wish to destroy?You want to destroy. So badly.” Ivan’s heart monitor was getting steadily faster.

“You fucking bastard.” He bit his finger in an attempt to silence himself. He slowly slid down the door and took a series of shuddering breaths. “What have you done to me??”

He felt the wetness on his cheeks and wanted someone, anyone to wipe them away. To make it stop

Ivan’s whole body shook as he fought for air to enter his lungs. Alfred crawled by his bedside and grasped his hand. He held the hand to his forehead and let out a sob. He was far beyond sorrow.

“A part of me died. You fucking took it with you that night. You can have even more if it means this doesn’t end.” The door swung open and a younger man’s voice sounded. Ivan’s hand tensed around his.

“Sir, we’ve got to go back soon-”

“GET. OUT.” Alfred was full on sobbing now. He howled at what he had lost. Himself, his connection to family, so many of his soldiers, and now his purpose in life. It was over. The door clicked in the distance. “I’m so sick of this shit. It all goes on way too far. So take it or live and have more. Because you make me whole.”

Alfred cupped his hand around Ivan’s face and realized his cheeks were stained with tears as well.

“You’ll have to work harder you American fucker.” His voice was hardly audible in its brokenness.

Alfred gasped and held the body tighter. He was empty.

“You hurt me so much.” Ivar stained.

Alfred stood up stiffly.

“You hurt me so much,” Alfred growled. “But I can’t watch you die.”

Ivan stared at him with sober eyes. Alfred looked at his feet as he ducked out the room.

He didn’t wipe the tears away. He could see through his cynical eyes.

 

 


End file.
